Yesterday morning: At the corner of Pacific and Washington, a black limousine was pulled over to the curb. A sharp-dressed woman in one of those sixties-era cape coats bent forward, head leaning through the window up to her shoulders. Her little dog (a Pomeranian?) had pulled to the extreme length of its leash in the opposite direction. Butt in the air, it's head leaned up to the shoulders into the storm drain.

This morning: The doppleganger of Mrs. Kravitz from Bewitched walked briskly across the street in front of my car, wearing a steel blue sweat outfit and a dark grey hat with a brim, giving it the feel of a soft bowler. On the leash walking briskly beside her was a tiny grey poodle.

After my turn onto Admiralty Way, a man in a pink and white sweat outfit walked a red and white Spaniel down the sidewalk. The Spaniel walked slower and slower, pulling back until the man turned around, spread his arms wide, and mouthed "What?" The Spaniel looked up smiling and wagged its tail.

Across the street in the park a blonde woman wearing a dun-colored sweater jacket and a look of terminal boredom stood by one of the workout stations while the golden retriever on her leash sniffed and sniffed, taking a long time to decide when and if it wanted to do its business.

At the corner of Pacific and Washington again, one block up from the beach, two businesslike women in their businesslike workout clothes with their two businesslike roan-colored, short-haired, medium sized dogs all jogged in place, looking across the street, eager for the light to change.